


Day 18: "I Can't See"

by SpiderShell



Series: FEBUWHUMP 2021: IronDad [18]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: "i can't see", Blindness, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Part 1, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderShell/pseuds/SpiderShell
Summary: Peter, Boss says that if you don’t get up in the next ten minutes, he will be throwing your breakfast out,FRIDAY, Tony’s AI, informed, startling Peter from sleep.“Fine, fine,” he mumbled, sitting up and opening his eyes.Peterscreamed.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: FEBUWHUMP 2021: IronDad [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136318
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	Day 18: "I Can't See"

**Author's Note:**

> **TISSUE WARNING** : I'm so proud of this fic, but I cried when writing it 😭😭😭😭

“Bye, Aunt May!” Peter called, waving from the kitchen as she walked out the door. “I larb you!”

He tiptoed to the living area window, watching until he saw his aunt well on her way to the bus stop. Okay, good. She wasn’t going to catch him in the act. 

Smiling to himself, Peter returned to the kitchen and opened the cupboard under the sink, pulling out a bottle of bleach, a scrubbing brush, and an old stained cloth. Whistling a tune under his breath, he moved into the small bathroom to deposit the supplies, coming back out only to grab a chair. 

Soon, the harsh smell of bleach filled the air as Peter stood on the chair, scrubbing at the moldy marks on the roof. He was happy - this is not a fun job, but it would make May happy, and he liked doing things to help her. She’d been saying for a few weeks now that the task needed to be done, and with her busy schedule of balancing two jobs, there would never be enough time. It was the least he can do to help her. Goodness knows he wastes a lot of money on food with his superhuman metabolism and all. 

A clattering and banging from the kitchen startled him, and his hand jerked, involuntarily tightening on the bleach cloth. Just as Peter glanced up to start working on the next stain, several splashes of bleach dropped, falling straight onto his forehead, breaking on the skin, and rolling into his eyes. Peter hissed in pain, desperately fumbling to get off the chair and to the sink. He turned the tap on and shoved his face under the water, using his fingertips to hold his eyes open under the forceful spray. After a few months, he pulled back, spluttering, and reached for a hand towel, dabbing at his eyes gently. Satisfied that the bleach was completely rinsed away, he leaned on the sink, taking deep breaths. His eyes _burned like heck._

Reaching for his phone, he pulled Google up, squinting to see with his watery vision as he tapped at the search engine. _What happens if I get bleach in my eyes?_

He worried his lip between his teeth as he pulled up the first website and scanned through it. _Go to an emergency room as soon as possible to make sure your eyes won’t sustain any permanent damage,_ it said, and this fact was stated over and over in other websites. 

Peter sighed. 

“Well, I can’t do that,” he said aloud to the bathroom wall. First things first, May was at work and he had no way to get to a hospital other than taking a bus, but he’d already used his bus money going to and from school. Besides, visits to the hospital cost a lot of money, didn’t they? And May already had two jobs trying to pay for the bills, so he couldn’t waste any of her hard-earned cash because he had been careless. His super-healing would make sure nothing happened, he was certain. 

He put the cleaning supplies away and sank onto the couch, hugging his knees to his chest and staring aimlessly at the blank TV. Even though he knew he was fine, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. 

_Stop being an idiot,_ he told himself, shaking his head and turning on the TV. _You’re fine._

* * *

Peter tapped his pen, watching carefully as his teacher scribbled on the board. He glanced down at his notes, scratched something out, and re-wrote it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the tiny writing at the front of the room. 

“Peter, what did she say was the name of the bacteria that can grow with and without oxygen?” Ned whispered to him, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Biology wasn’t his strong suit. 

Peter tilted his head and leaned forward even more. “I’m pretty sure the board says _facultative anaerobes._ Yeah, it does.”

“Ah, thanks.” Ned breathed out a sigh of relief and continued scribbling into his biology notebook. 

“No problem,” Peter whispered back, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Man, he was tired.

* * *

_Does that say fission or fusion?_ Peter wondered, staring at his biology textbook. _Oh duh. This chapter’s about bacteria, so it must be binary fission. Fusion is atoms: nuclear bombs and all that._

He went back to scribbling out the answers to his homework, the text swimming before his eyes. Grunting in frustration, he rubbed at them again, opening them wide and blinking. Nothing changed. 

“What the heck is going on?” he muttered in irritation. Picking up the homework sheet, he held it up close to his face. It was finally clear enough to be readable, but still murky. His heart gave a jolt. _What's wrong with me?_

He got up and reached under his bed, pulling out a worn wooden box pushed right to the back wall. Nose scrunching, he opened it, revealing a glasses case and an inhaler - his pre-spider bite medical necessities. He pried the case open and slipped the wire frame glasses onto his face, forcing them to settle uncomfortably over his ears and nose. Blinking to clear the moisture from his eyes, Peter looked around. His vision was almost ten times better, but nowhere as good as it should be. 

May poked her head through his bedroom door. "Dinner's ready - oh Peter, you're wearing your glasses! What happened? I thought your eyesight was perfect after the bite." Concern blossomed on her face and she moved fully into the doorway, an oven mitt in her hands.

Peter stared at the floor before looking at his aunt. "My eyes were sore from all the reading I'm having to do for homework, and they felt better when I was wearing my glasses, that's why." He grinned to seem more innocent and sincere. "Don't worry."

"I always do," May retorted, quirking an eyebrow, but the glint in her eye told Peter that she was still suspicious. He'd have to be more careful when at home. May was way smarter than anyone gave her credit for - she could sniff out a lie from a mile away.

He smiled at her, put his pen down, and went to join her at the table.

By next week, his super healing would fix his eyesight, and he wouldn't have to wear those awful glasses anymore.

* * *

Flash caught Peter squinting at his class schedule, glasses slipping down his nose. 

"The return of the nerd!" he crowed, smacking Peter in the back of his head and snatching the glasses from him. 

"Hey!" Peter cried, swinging his hand about. "Give those back!"

"As if you even need them," Flash scoffed. "You suddenly going blind, Parker?" He dropped the glasses to the ground and ground them under his heel. 

"Why did you-" Peter began, voice cracking. "You _jerk._ " He needed those glasses! He could hardly see without them!

"Ooh are we getting violent now?" Flash sounded delighted. He took a step closer to Peter. "I dare you to punch me."

Peter's phone pinged, and he looked down to see Happy's profile picture appear beside a new message notification. Of course! It was lab day today, and he was staying the night at the Tower. "Gotta go," he mumbled, ignoring the sound of Flash's jeers as he hurried down the hallway.

"Sorry Happy," he said, slipping into the back seat l. "I got caught up in the after-school rush."

Happy grunted in reply, raising the privacy window. He was never one for conversation. 

During the two hours it took to get to the Tower, Peter stared uselessly at his homework, the movement of the vehicle making it impossible to even attempt to read any of the words in his blurry eyesight. Peter bit his lip. Things were getting worse, and now he didn’t even have his glasses anymore.

* * *

"Hey Mr. Stark!" he called, adding a spring to his step as he entered the lab.

Tony looked up, gaze softening as he looked at the boy. "Hey kid," he greeted. "Ready to get started?"

"You bet!" Peter said, a little too enthusiastically, as he bounced over to his work table, plopping his bag down. "What're we doing today?"

For once in his life, Peter was beyond glad that he was mostly watching Tony work while he explained the intricacies of the machine he was tinkering with. He could see well enough to know what was going on, but if he was trying to do what Tony was doing, there'd be no way his _condition_ could be kept secret. Mr. Stark could not know, at all costs. 

"Kid, could you connect these wires?" Tony asked, tapping a finger down on the table. "I need to take a quick call."

Peter nodded, anxiety rising in him, as he picked up the tool and squinted down at the wires. _I can do this,_ he thought. _I have to._

Slowly, wire by wire, he did. He was almost done, squinting hard, when suddenly a hand grabbed his wrist and jerked it up. 

"What the heck, Peter!?" Tony yelled, flabbergasted. "You can't put the blue and yellow wires together. It'll cause an explosion."

Peter dropped his head and rubbed his face. "'M sorry," he mumbled. 

“Just be careful,” Tony said, taking the pliers from him and connecting the last few wires himself. “Are you okay? You seem very distracted today.”

His heart jolted. “Uhh.” What to say? Quick, come up with an explanation! What’s the truth, but not the real truth? “I’m just really tired. I had to stay up late last night, and it has murdered me.”

"Oh," Tony said in surprise, chuckling at Peter’s choice of words. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt going to bed a little earlier tonight, would it?”

Peter felt guilty for having such relief flood over him. “No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed. 

“Well, run along then, spiderling”

* * *

Back pressed up against the headboard, Peter squinted at his phone screen. Flash’s words rang in his head over and over and over again. 

_How do I know if I am going blind?_

He tapped at a medical website - skipping over the Quora article - and tried to read it as best as he could. The little bits of which he could read made his heart sink, and his tired, blurry eyes filled with tears. “No,” he said to himself, staring into the dark of his room. “I’m sure that by tomorrow, my healing will kick in. It has to.”

A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he went into the gallery of his phone. Scrolling through his edited photos, he found a collage that he had made a few weeks ago of the people he loved best: May, Ned, MJ, even Mr. Stark. He rubbed a hand over his face, keeping his eyes glued to the photo. He could barely see it, but if he held the phone up close to his face, he could make out the individual faces. Whispering each of their names under his breath, he willed their images to be imprinted, branded into his mind forever. 

Breath hitching, he took one last look, turned off his phone, and tucked it under his pillow. “Everything will be fine tomorrow,” he told himself, laying his head down and drawing the covers over his shoulders.

* * *

Peter’s alarm blared in his ear, and he reached out his hand, slapping at his phone lazily. He opened an eye, then buried his head under the covers again. “It’s not even light yet,” he mumbled. 

_Peter, Boss says that if you don’t get up in the next ten minutes, he will be throwing your breakfast out,_ FRIDAY, Tony’s AI, informed, startling Peter from sleep. 

“Fine, fine,” he mumbled, sitting up and opening his eyes. 

It was completely dark, a slightly orange tint to his right-hand-side indicating that the sun would be rising soon. 

“Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “This is a prank, right?”

_I am completely serious._

Dread gnawed at his insides. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

_It is currently ten thirteen in the morning._

Peter rubbed his face, fear pulsing through him. He opened his eyes again, holding his hands out in front of his face. 

He could see nothing.

Peter _screamed._

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start freaking out, and I am sure that there will be plenty of you who are on the verge of freaking out right now, this is _not_ the end. The story picks up again on Day 21 and will be finished. 
> 
> I wrote this to the songs _11:11_ and _we the messed up generation_ by Tate McRae, so definitely check those out!!


End file.
